


narrative symmetry (is bullshit)

by customrolex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accepting Dean, Character Study, F/M, Gay Male Character, Gay Sam Winchester, Gen, Homophobic John, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 00:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1837255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/customrolex/pseuds/customrolex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Just a question,” Sam said, forcing his voice to sound casual and failing horribly. “Did you see, you know.” He swept his hand vaguely, before crossing his arms uncomfortably. “Everything?”</p><p> </p><p>“I saw you with another guy's dick in your mouth, Sammy,” Dean replied easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	narrative symmetry (is bullshit)

Dean found out first, in a way he and Sam really would have preferred to avoid. Dean opened the door just long enough to see absolutely everything, long enough to make eye contact with a stranger in his room. A shout erupted and Dean shut the door, hurrying back to the living room. Dean knew it would be only a matter of time before the other boy left, so he just waited in the living room, faux-casual. He kicked up a leg, balancing his ankle on his knee. Only two minutes and forty seconds—he kept track on his watch to prevent himself from thinking about what he had just seen—passed before the blond kid slinked into the living room. Dean forced a smile at him. The kid nodded cordially.

****

“It was nice meeting you,” the kid blurted, clutching his backpack in front of him, the full bag very obviously disguising his crotch. “I’m—I’m gonna go.” He scrambled past the coffee table to burst out the front door and the cheap clapboard door clacked shut behind him. Another minute ticked by before Sam came into the room. Dean looked at his little brother, who was doing his best to hide behind his floppy, stupid hair. His face was bright red and his eyes were intent on the floor. Dean waited in the silence, while Sam opened his mouth as if to speak and settled on blowing out a long breath, cheeks puffing out almost comically.

****

“A sock on the door handle next time, maybe,” Dean suggested lightly. Sam huffed a little laugh, but he sounded a bit too hysterical to seem sincere. “We share a room, so it’s just. Common courtesy, for next time you have a guest over in the afternoon, just, you know. Little message so I don’t walk in on something like that. I know we live out of each others’ pockets, but some shit a guy doesn’t need to see.” Sam nodded at the ground but didn’t retreat. “What?” Dean prompted.

****

“Just a question,” Sam said, forcing his voice to sound casual and failing horribly. “Did you see, you know.” He swept his hand vaguely, before crossing his arms uncomfortably. “Everything?”

****

“I saw you with another guy's dick in your mouth, Sammy,” Dean replied easily. Sam made a small, distressed sound. Tomorrow, Dean would rejoice that Sam had been this easy to fluster, that Dean didn’t even have to really needle him much for Sam to look like he was one joke away from dissolving in embarrassment. This moment would last him months, if this was any indication.

****

“Right,” Sam said. He started to retreat, then stopped. Dean wondered how much of this conversation was going to be him waiting for Sam to open his mouth and spit it out. Sam slowly turned back to him, steeled himself, “Look, Dean, I, uh,” he faltered.

****

“What?” Dean pushed. Sam looked up at him. Dean immediately felt bad; Sam looked kind of wrecked, to be honest. Only then did Dean realize why this was different than walking in on Sam jerking off, or doing anything else that was generally best not witnessed by your big brother. Holy shit, he realized. Sam had just come out to him. Sam had literally been _sucking a dick_ and it had taken Dean nearly six whole minutes to realize how gay that was. Holy shit, Sam was _gay_. Sam had just come out to him, and Dean had just been as much of an asshole about it as he was about nearly everything else Sam did.  “Dude, it’s OK,” he promised.

****

“Really?” Sam asked, and his voice still had that note of hysteria. “Because I had a _guy_ in there, and I’m only ever _gonna_ have guys in there, Dean, and I know that’s not normal, OK? I know—”

****

“Sam, Sam,” Dean interrupted. He stood, going to his brother. Sam was still shorter than him, even if it might only last another two months at the rate he was growing, so Dean had to duck his head to meet Sam’s eyes, gripping skinny shoulders “Sam, it’s OK. It’s fine.”

****

“I knew I had to tell you eventually; I didn’t—” Sam tried. “I thought you worked at two. I didn’t want to tell you like this.”

****

“Best way you coulda,” he lied, for Sam’s sake. “Come here; shut up,” he ordered, hugging Sam, because the kid looked like he could use it, and, at the end of the day, Dean was gonna look out for Sammy. Sam was secretly a giant girl, so he slung his arms around Dean and squeezed. “I don’t care that it was a guy, man. You could have been sucking on almost any part of any gender and I would only care that you’re a fucking idiot who doesn’t know to put a sock on the damn door handle.” He let go, and Sam laughed, sounding significantly less hysterical. “Thought I’d taught you better than that.”

****

“You don’t care?” Sam asked, desperate. “You don’t care that I’m gay?”

****

“No,” Dean said honestly. He was kind of surprised at himself, but really, he didn’t. Watch out for Sammy was embedded in his DNA, in his bones, and if it meant chasing off shitty boyfriends instead of shitty girlfriends, whatever, he’d do it and he’d be the best at it, because Sam was his little brother. Sam turning out gay was pretty much a nonevent. Like Freddie Mercury, even if he was only sort of gay. Still great music, still an annoying little brother. “As long as, you know, you’re. You know. Safe, happy, whatever.” He waved his hand vaguely, wanting to brush past this sappy part of the ordeal. God, a relationship with two men had the potential of to be so manly; trust Sam to turn the whole thing in another excuse for a friggin movie moment, all gooey and disgusting.

****

“I’m safe, yeah,” Sam promised. “I’m being safe. And I like Chris. We’re fifteen, so it’s probably nothing, but I, yeah. I like him. I’m glad you’re so cool with this,” Sam admitted. Dean shrugged.

****

"Doesn't matter to me, Sam."

****

“Thanks, man.” Dean shook his head, pushing past Sam. He did actually need into the room; he had gone in to change for work.

****

“You don’t have to thank me,” Dean grumbled. “You’re my brother, like I’m gonna give a shit. Don’t be such a cheeseball.”

****

Dean yanked his uniform out of the narrow closet, shaking off the house’s ever-present dust. Sam hovered in the door, arms crossed behind him. He seemed hugely relieved. Dean wondered how long Sam had been trying to figure out how to come out. How long had he been hiding just this kid, let alone others in any other town? Dean certainly bragged whenever he got head; how long had Sam been lying about his? Kinda shitty, really, he mused, having to keep secrets about something as basic as hooking up with somebody. How much longer was he going to keep it a secret? Eventually, he’d be old enough to come to bars with Dean, and Dean tried wingman him enough as it was. What was his long term plan when Dean pushed him towards the wrong gender of hotties in bars?

****

“Are you gonna tell Dad?” Sam asked, and just like that, all the tension Dean had melted away with his chick flick hug moment was back. Dean froze, one arm in one sleeve of his Biggerson's shirt. Holy motherfucking shit, why was he not realizing all of these things today? Dad. Dean looked over at his brother, who was just watching him worriedly. Sam’s white teeth gnawed at his lip.

****

One of the huge downsides of having a father with a single minded obsession about  hunting the thing that murdered your mother nearly fifteen years ago was that they never had normal conversations. He focused solely on the hunt, on training his boys, on keeping his boys safe. He had literally never said a word about Dean’s dating habits, never given any indication he found Sam’s apparent lack of dating habits suspicious. He’d never said anything about romantic entanglements, or about sex to his boys.

****

“Fuck. _Dad_ ,” Dean said. Sam nodded.

****

“I mean, he only cares about hunting, right,” Sam offered. “So maybe it wouldn’t even matter to him. It’s not like being gay actually affects my ability to shoot a gun or track a rugaru. But, on the other hand, he’s a Marine. And he’s strict. He’s old fashioned. I wouldn’t be shocked if he did care, immensely.”

****

“Yeah,” Dean agreed faintly. “God, Sam, I have no idea what Dad would say.”

****

“You can’t tell him,” Sam ordered. “You _can’t_ tell him.” Dean pulled his shirt on, buttoning it. “Dean.”

****

“I won’t tell him,” he promised. “You’ll have to eventually,” Dean said. “Maybe he won’t care. Maybe he’ll be supportive or something.” Sam laughed darkly.

****

“Yeah, Dad and I are known for how supportive we are of each other,” he pointed out. Dean rolled his eyes.

****

“Whatever,” Dean snapped. “Look, I gotta go to work. I just—I’m on your side on this, no matter what, OK, Sammy?”

****

“Thanks,” Sam said. “That means a lot, Dean.”

****

“You’re such a fucking sap,” Dean complained, and pushed past Sam again to get to the hall and get to work. “It’s disgusting. Get a hold of yourself.”

****

“You’re a gem and a butterfly!” Sam called after him, just to piss him off. Things were normal. It was truly, really OK.

****

* * *

****

“Can I ask you something?” Dean began. Sam looked over at him from the passenger seat. He’d been quiet since they’d had to leave Ames that morning, on short notice. He tapped his pen twice loudly against the map he had open. He lifted his brows and Dean took that as permission. “Do you catch or pitch?”

****

“For fuck’s sakes, Dean!” Sam cried. Dean cackled. “Why do you want to know what I do when I have sex? I’m your brother, man; that’s fucking weird.”

****

“I don’t actually care,” he assured Sam. “I just wanted to see your face when I asked. Worth it.” He reached for his Coke, chuckling as he twisted the cap off. “Super worth it. Besides, gimme some credit. I’ve known you’re gay for almost a whole year and I’m only just asking.” Sam rolled his eyes so hard Dean wouldn’t be shocked if he’d concussed himself doing so.

****

“You’re so offensive,” Sam snapped. Dean laughed again, lifting his drink. “I catch, by the way, because guys say my dick is too big for them,” Sam said, timing it perfectly so Dean choked on the first sip. He pressed a fist against his mouth, because he was not going to spit Coke all over his baby. “Worth it,” Sam echoed in an ape of Dean’s voice, “super worth it.” Dean forced himself to swallow so he could cough.

****

“Fuck you,” Dean put in weakly. “You do not have a monster dick; you’re such a liar.”

****

“I’m, like, six and a half feet tall, Dean,” Sam pointed out. “Even if it were just proportional, it would be huge.”

****

“Fuck you,” Dean repeated. “I regret everything.” He aggressively ignored the way Sam shifted in his seat, sarcastically spreading his legs as though to make room for something impressive. “Did Ryan really say it was too big for him?” Ryan was a kind of a dick, but Sam liked him because of his amazing debate club prowess, which proved just how gay Sam was. Dean could totally see Ryan being too much of a whiny little bitch to put out. Dean was kind of pleased they were taking off. He hated Ryan. Now he and Sam had to break up and Dean didn’t even have to plan an amazing sabotage. He capped his Coke and put it back in the cupholder. Sam had ruined it.

****

“To his credit,” Sam said seriously, “he tried. He could barely fit his mouth around it. It’s too bad. He had this cadence when he talked and I bet he would have given amazing head.” Dean looked over at Sam, shocked. Sam was staring absently out the windshield. He hummed wistfully and Dean resisted the urge to gape.

****

“He couldn’t fit it in his _mouth_?” Dean demanded. Sam shrugged. “He literally couldn’t blow you?”

****

“Like I said,” Sam replied, smug. “Six and a half feet tall.” He turned back to his map. Dean stared at him suspiciously, between his brother and the road.

****

"I can't tell if you're exaggerating to fuck with me or not," Dean said. "The tall thing, yeah, I get that. But no way you're so big guys literally can’t blow you. That's just sad for you. You're fucking with me, right?"

****

“I don’t think Dad’s leading us the most efficient way there," Sam said instead. "I think Highway Three will get us there quicker. Why go all the way up I-35 and then come back over?” Dean had no intention of doing anything in the snow other than follow Dad’s truck’s taillights. Sam could angst over his map and efficiency all he liked; Dean still followed orders and right now that meant taillights and I-35.

****

“Holy shit,” Dean groaned. “Well, we’re out of Ames now. You’ll find some hottie in the next town who can take you.”

****

“Ryan and I broke up last week, man,” Sam pointed out. “I must have told you.”

****

“Nope,” Dean said. “I’m pretty sure I would remember jumping for joy.”

****

“Did you not like Ryan?” Sam asked. “I hated Stacy; high five!” Sam lifted his hand for a high five and Dean left him hanging. His last girlfriend, Stacy, had been great, even if she was a bit stuck up and clearly enthralled with Dean because she was slumming it. They’d spent nearly three months just outside Chicago, and she worked reception in the garage Dean drove tow for, and man, oh, man, did they have fun working there.

****

“Say what you want about Stacy,” Dean said, “she woulda found a way to take your dick. She was determined. And flexible.” Sam wrinkled his nose. His hand was still hanging; Dean slapped the backs of his fingers into Sam’s palm to get his brother’s frigging paw out of his face. Sam retreated immediately.

****

“Ryan wanted to find a way to take your dick,” Sam said. Dean sputtered successfully, no Coke in his mouth to accidentally inhale. “I think it’s hilarious that you didn’t like him. He would have given you some of his amazing head.”

****

“You’re kidding? He said that to you?”

****

“Yeah, said, why is it the straight brother is always the hot one?”

****

“What an asshole!” Dean blurted. Sam shrugged. “That why you dumped him?”

****

“Nah,” Sam said. “Everyone talks about how beautiful you are. I dumped him because he said your name in bed.” Dean, honest to god, gasped, like someone had just eloped on Dr Sexy.

****

“You’re kidding!”

****

“Nope,” Sam said, dragging out the O and popping his P. “Shouted it right out. I have never left a room so fast in my life. Especially without pants.” Dean did not visualize a naked Sam running out on sex with douche Ryan. He did not.

****

“I cannot believe that little skeeze had the hots for me,” Dean said, mostly to himself. Sam hummed his agreement. Dean followed his dad onto an off ramp. "He was the worst, man, just the worst."

****

“Highway Three! I told you!” Sam exclaimed.

****

“Well. This is not the way I thought this conversation would go,” Dean mused.

****

“Yeah, you just wanted to piss me off, not learn that I have a bigger dick than you and worse taste in date mates,” Sam agreed. “This was a surprisingly OK conversation, considering we were basically discussing our sexual histories. You know what, Dean? That was a bonding moment.”

****

“Don’t ruin it,” Dean warned. “These things are easy to ruin, Sam. Don’t do it.”

****

“I appreciated your maturity,” Sam remarked. “I’d like to have someone to talk to about this sort of thing on a more frequent basis."

****

“You ruined it,” Dean interrupted. He smacked the radio and Zeppelin saved him from his brother.

****

* * *

****

A job in North Dakota turned out to be absolutely nothing. Four families in the last ten years convinced they had ghosts. And it turned out to be a hidden basement crawlspace housing a bunch of raccoons. Newspaper reports of broken crockery in the kitchen, and household items going missing, horrible noises waking people up at night, doors opening by themselves, along with the fact two young people had violently died on the original house on that lot in the thirties made it sound a lot more compelling than it had turned out to be. Dad was livid, so Sam and Dean flung themselves at the newspaper to try and find anything else that might be worth looking at.

****

“Honestly,” Dad grumbled in the kitchenette of the motel. “Morons, wasting everyone’s time with fake hauntings.” On the bright side, Dean thought, they did end up with a really sweet motel room. A kitchenette, main room, two tiny bedrooms down a hallway. He’d still have to share with his brother, but their dad had his own room, so they could talk in relative privacy. He’d gotten Sam a fake ID, and he wanted to see if he could convince his brother to sneak out with him. There was a bar maybe four blocks away. They could go out, maybe hustle pool, maybe just get drunk together.

****

“This might be something,” Sam said from his laptop. “Couple of nonfatal animal attacks in Montana, exactly two weeks apart, both young Native women?” Dad ignored him and Sam sighed, going right back to his screen as Dad went right back into his whiskey.

****

“Uh, I might have one,” Dean said, rifling through the pile of papers in front of him. “A vengeful spirit in San Diego. Originally, the building was a bread factory; owner tried to burn it down for the insurance money in nineteen twenty five. He died from burn related infections eight weeks later, and since the sixtieth anniversary, someone goes missing on the anniversary of the fire every year.”

****

"There a pattern of victims?" Dad asked. Dean nodded.

****

"Always boys, always sixteen year olds. Nowadays, the building is a center for gay teens and all the kids have—”

****

“A center for gays?” their dad echoed. Dean had said it out loud, like a moron, painting a muted sign towards the elephant in the room. Sam froze at his laptop, watching the back of their dad’s head from his perch on the counter, laptop lighting his face blue and cold. Dean nodded nonchalantly. Dean turned away from Dad's scowl, which could just be his default scowl, or still about the raccoons. He might not be scowling at the fact the victims were gay, Dean told himself.

****

“Yeah, says here it hosts meetings and activities for gay kids in upper San Diego,” he replied, forcibly casual. “Like a community center, except—”

****

“Except for faggots,” their dad said. Dean’s heart felt like it skipped several beats, clenching uncomfortably. Dad tossed back his whiskey. Dean risked a glance at Sam, who had ducked his head so determinedly as to be unreadable. “Why do a bunch of queer kids need a damn center?”

****

“Lot of homelessness and abuse amongst gay teens nowadays,” Dean put in. He wanted to bash his own fucking head in. Why did he say anything? Why did he bring it up at all? Community center would have sufficed; it would have avoided this fucking painful moment. Why would he bring this up in front of their dad? Even if he was testing the water to see how Dad might have reacted to knowing about Sam, he definitely shouldn’t have brought it up in front of Sam. “Guess they need extra support.” Dad slammed his glass down on the counter. Sam flinched.

****

“Fucking ridiculous. Gay kids got kicked out in my day too; you didn’t see any special centers for them. Let ‘em disappear,” Dad grumbled. “We’ll look at Sam’s thing.”

****

“My thing has a weaker pattern than Dean’s thing,” Sam pointed out quietly. “My thing’s barely a thing.”

****

“We’re not going to go look for a bunch of disappearing fags, Sam,” Dad snapped. “Some bleeding heart liberal can deal with that shit. I’m going out to work off some steam. I need to forget this entire damn week. Dean, keep an eye on your brother. I’ll be back in the morning so put the chain on.”

****

“Yessir,” Dean said automatically, following his dad to the door. “See you tomorrow, Dad.”

****

“Yeah,” Dad said, shutting loudly the door behind him. Dean clicked the lock and slid the chain into place. He waited until he saw Dad’s shape through the peephole disappear before turning back to Sam. The laptop was closed in the kitchenette, and Sam was nowhere to be seen. Dean hurried down the tiny hallway to their room, and the door was shut. He pushed it open and it creaked.

****

“Go away,” Sam said. He sat on the end of his bed, slouching almost comically low in his hoodie.

****

“Sam,” Dean tried, unsure of what to even say. _I’m sorry? This sucks? Don’t worry, we’ll never tell him you like dick? Well, bro, guess you’ll have to stay in that closet for a while, ‘cause Dad has guns and anger issues when it comes to you?_ What could possibly make Sam stop hunching like that?

****

“It’s fine,” Sam said quickly. “Please go away.”

****

“It’s not fine,” Dean said, coming into the room. He stepped carefully over the salt line. “You don’t have to pretend it’s fine.” He shut the door behind himself, as though Dad was still around to overhear. God, how did this awesome motel room get ruined? Dean had just wanted to lie in a dark room with his brother and talk about the hot waitress they’d met, and the possibility of Sam coming out with him that night. He’d just wanted to hang out with his brother, and now they had to have a Talk and Dean hated it.

****

“Dean,” Sam complained. “Leave me alone.”

****

“Come on, I’m trying here, OK?” Dean said. “You usually say we’ve got to talk about this sort of shit, so come on, talk to me.” He stood at the end of his bed, facing Sam, feeling out of place. Usually he was sulking about something and Sam was insisting they angst it out together. “Talk to me, kiddo.”

****

“There’s nothing to say,” Sam said firmly. He wouldn’t even look up. “We knew there was a chance this is how it would be, and it’s not like I planned to tell him anyway.”

****

“What, you’re just gonna live your whole life in the closet? Never let Dad know who you are?” Dean demanded. Sam snorted, glaring over at him.

****

“It’s not like it’d be hard,” he pointed out snottily, like the brat he was. “We never stay anywhere long enough to form real relationships with anyone. It’s not like I’d have to bring someone home to meet the family. He’s too wrapped up in hunting to ever guess it for himself. It’s a non-issue.”

****

“Sammy—”

****

“He and I fight about everything, Dean,” Sam continued, his voice getting louder. “We don’t see eye to eye and this is just another shitty way that we’re different. Just another way for me to disappoint him, and there’s nothing I can do about it this time!”

****

“Dad isn’t disappointed in you!” Dean snapped. “He fucking tries his best—”

****

“He _is_ disappointed in me, and you know it,” Sam returned, tone sharper than Dean had known Sam was capable of. Sam stood like a challenge, lifted a hand, numbering things off vindictively. “I’m a disappointment when I care more about school than my guns. I’m a disappointment when I care more about stability than the hunt, and now I’ll be a disappointment when he finds out I’m just like one of those queer kids in San Diego!” Dean resisted urge to step back as Sam got all up in his face. Sam was fucking tall now; Dean always forgot that until Sam was looming over someone, drawn up to his full height. “Why the fuck did you bring that up at all? Why didn’t you just leave it!”

****

“Why are you attacking me for this?” Dean interrupted, nevermind the fact that, inside, he was attacking himself just like that. “Sam, I’m just trying to help.”

****

“And a fat lot of good you’re doing,” Sam shouted. “You shouldn’t have brought it up to him! You shouldn’t have said they were gay! He didn’t take the hunt, Dean; he doesn’t give a _shit_ about those kids—”

****

“You’re _his_ kid; it’s different,” Dean put it. “Don’t take this out on me, Sam; I’m on your side here. This isn’t anybody’s fault, OK? You need to calm down.”

****

“Well, what the fuck do you want me to say?” Sam shouted, his voice inching into hysterical the way it had a tendency to whenever he felt cornered like this. “I’m upset! I’m allowed to be upset because this is something about me I cannot fucking change and now I’m always gonna know, one way or another, that if he knew I were gay, he’d say,  _fuck it, let the kid disappear_.”

****

“Your hunt was closer; that’s all,” Dean tried. “Dad didn’t mean—”

****

“My hunt is barely anything and you know it!” Sam said. “He’s been fucking pissed for three days that this hunt was nothing and now we’re headed to another one that’s nothing so he doesn’t have to help out any faggots like me, Dean—”

****

“Don’t call yourself—”

****

“So don’t fucking tell me I need to calm down!” Sam barrelled on. He trampled over Dean’s words, his reassurances, and for all Dean tried to cut him off, calm him down, stop the rampage before Sam got too close to breaking, he fucking knew it was his own fault. He shouldn’t have said anything; he shouldn’t have tested that water, and not while Sammy was right there to overhear everything. “The family business: saving people, hunting things,” said Sam, mimicking the way their dad recited it. “He’s letting this thing go because the people it’s hunting? They’re like me. I turned sixteen two months ago. I am one of those kids he doesn’t give a shit about and fuck you for defending him! You said you’d be on my side no matter what, you fucking liar—”

****

“Hey!” Dean cut in. He shoved Sam’s shoulders, making the back of Sam’s knee hit the bed. Sam stumbled despite himself but didn’t fall. It shut him the hell up. “Don’t you _dare_ put that on me.” Sam stayed silent, red in the face and resolutely not teary eyed. “You’re my _brother_ , you little shit, and I’m sorry that you heard him say that stuff, but you don’t get to act like family don’t come first with me.”

****

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled.

****

“And you don’t get to act like, for one goddamn _second_ , that I am anywhere but on your side,” Dean continued. “You utter douche.” He shoved Sam’s shoulder again, gently this time, making a point.

****

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I’m sorry.”

****

“Shut the fuck up. You’re his _son_ ,” Dean said firmly. “You’re his _kid_. He’d come around, OK, eventually, he would. He’d never tell you to get lost.” Sam snorted, flopping down on his mattress and turning away. He tucked his head onto his pillow, fully dressed, boots on. “Sammy.”

****

“I’m sorry,” Sam said again. “I didn’t mean—”

****

“I know, kiddo, I know,” Dean said. He sat on his own bed. “At least take off your boots if you’re going to bed.”

****

“No,” Sam said mulishly. “I’m in full sulk mode and I can do whatever I want.” Dean rolled his eyes at his brother’s dramatics. “I just want to go to bed. Either turn off the light or go away. Or both.” Dean didn’t leave. He did get the light, but he wasn’t gonna leave Sam alone right now. And it’s not like he had anything else to do. He kicked off his own boots, tugged off his jeans, and settled into his own bed. He looked at the window, the salt line and the biblical Greek protection sigils Sam liked to trace on the panes in those whiteboard markers he stole from one of his schools. So much for sneaking his brother out to a bar with him tonight. So much for an easy night, just the two of them. He had wanted drunk Sam, the clingy, giggling idiot, not sad Sam, who cried in his sleep and rolled to face away from Dean.

****

"Dean," Sam whispered after what seemed like ages. "You awake?"

****

"Yeah, Sammy."

****

"I lied when I said it was a non-issue."

****

"No shit."

****

"Yeah. I mean, I didn't have plans to tell you and you just walked in one day. Eventually, somehow, Dad's gonna find out," Sam said. "And he’s gonna be pissed. What if—Dean."

****

"When Dad finds out," Dean said, "we'll deal with it. You and me, man, like always.”

****

“Promise?”

****

“What, you don’t believe me? Bitch.”

****

“Jerk,” Sam whispered automatically. Dean smiled to himself. “I really am sorry I yelled at you.”

****

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry I shoved you,” Dean replied. Sam’s bed creaked, and Dean looked over. Sam had rolled to face him, curled in on himself. He looked deceptively small, tucked in like that.

****

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Sam promised. “I was being a shit.”

****

“If I hit you every time you were a shit, you’d never not have bruises,” Dean told him.

****

“I’d always have bruises, not never not.”

****

“Like then, for example, I’d just fucking sock you,” Dean said without missing a beat. “Just clock you so hard you’d forget to breathe.” Sam snorted and Dean grinned over at him. “I got you, Sammy,” he promised. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen to you while I’m here.” Sam nodded, looking for all the world like he was five again and Dean really could fix every problem.

****

“’Kay,” he agreed. “Night, Dean.”

****

“Night,” he replied. Sam punched his pillow a few times, getting comfy, but then all was quiet and they slept.

****

* * *

****

“Is that a hickey?” Dad said. Dean looked up from his book, touching his own neck reflexively. He’d left three on his last hookup; maybe she’d returned the favour. But Dad wasn’t looking at him. He was peering into the rearview. Dean twisted in the Impala to look at Sam. Sam was asleep, conked out something fierce. His mouth was hanging open, floppy hair strewn over his eyes, head tossed back at an angle that’d have him wincing when they got to Atlanta. Listening, Dean could hear him snoring lightly. Sure enough, there was a hickey on the side of his throat, just above the hollows of his collarbone, reddish skin all around it. A fucking hickey and beard burn, because Sam was apparently a fucking idiot.

****

“Looks like,” Dean replied. In the dim light, he hoped his dad couldn’t see the faint red rash of beard burn. Dean liked the look of it when he left it on the inside of a girl’s thighs; he understood the appeal, but he’d hoped Sam might be a bit smarter than to let some guy get away with leaving that somewhere visible. Dad just hummed indistinctly and moved his eyes back to the road. Dean turned back around, wondering how much longer he’d have to sit in the Impala with Sam’s knees digging into his back thru the seat. He hated being in the passenger seat, but Dad’s truck had been scrunched like an accordion in the last hunt.

****

“I forget how you boys are growing up,” Dad mused. He shifted his grip on the steering wheel. His ring caught in the light and Dean stared at it absently. “But you are. You’re not kids anymore. I know you go out at night; Sam clearly had a girl back in Douglas. Wonder if he had time to tell her we were leaving.”

****

Dean didn’t know what to say, so he just listened, staring still at Dad’s wedding ring. He wondered what Mom would have said about Sammy being gay, about Dean never really dating but just sort of drifting from girl to girl. He imagined she would have given him a talk about respect, and love, and treating girls like princesses or something. He imagined she would have loved Sam no matter what.

****

“You’re both turning into men,” Dad continued. “When I was your age, Dean, I was in the Marines. I was in love with your mother. You’ve moved around too much to fall in love with a woman, moved too much to find someone who’d love you like Mary loved me. So’s Sam.”

****

“Yeah, but we have to,” Dean said. “You know, the family business. We save people, families like what we were.”

****

“Are you boys happy?” Dad asked, looking over at Dean. “Living like this.” Dean looked away, thinking. He supposed that was a bad sign, not knowing immediately if he was in fact happy. He was pretty sure he was. He liked hunting, he did. He was good at it, the same way he was good at fixing cars and helping Sam with math homework. He liked being on the road, liked driving, liked Sam in the passenger seat next to him, liked throwing cashews at him when he tried to study. He liked cheap motels, liked late night stakeouts, liked the way Dad turned into a drill sergeant when it was time for him and Sam to train. He used to like beating Sam in races, but Sam was taller every day, and faster and faster as he grew.

****

“Yeah, Dad,” Dean said softly, turning back to his book. It was getting too dark to really read, but he had read _the Cement Garden_ a half dozen times. He liked it; he knew it well enough that the snatches of text he got as they passed under street lights were enough to read by.  “I think I’m happy.”

****

“Is Sam?” Dad asked. “He never talks about anything anymore.” He’s afraid he’ll say something to make you hate him; of course he’s too quiet, Dean thought to himself, but said aloud, “Yeah, I think he’s happy. He’s just, you know, a teenager. Doesn’t want to share.”

****

“You never shut up when you were his age,” Dad grumbled. “Stopped talking to me so much, maybe, but you talked your brother’s damn ear off.” Dean thought back to being seventeen. It felt like a very long time ago, but really, he was just over twenty-one. He’d thought he’d known everything then. He’d thought life would always be the way it was then. “I never hear Sam talking to you the way you talked to him. Just...” Dean looked over at his father, watching him in the flash-by lighting of streetlights in the car. Dad got this way sometimes, sounding far away and thoughtful. It was times like these he told Dean stories of his mom when they were young, before Dean was born, before they were married, or just before Dean was old enough to remember. Sometimes he told Dean about his own research, trying to find exactly what killed Mom, why it came, what it really was. Sometimes he just talked about nothing. Apparently, tonight, he was going to talk about Sam.

****

“I worry about the kid,” Dad said after a while. His default scowl was firmly in place. “That thing that killed your mother, it was in Sammy’s room. It was in there long enough to wake up your mother, make her go in.” Dean woke up when his mom started screaming. He remembered that more than almost anything from that night. It was November; it should have been cold at night, but he remembered waking up to her screaming and immediately feeling the heat, like the middle of summer, the press of the sharp air and carrying Sammy out. He remembered being scared Dad wouldn’t follow him out with Mom and he remembered telling Sam everything would be OK. He’d told that lie to Sam a lot in his life.

****

“I wonder what it did to him,” Dad said. “What it did to make Sammy cry, wake your mother up.”

****

“He used to cry all the time when he was little,” Dean said. “Who says it did something? Maybe he just woke up when it broke in. At any weird noise, he used to wake up and start shrieking. He cried constantly. He’s always been a miserable little shit.”

****

“Language.”

****

“Sir.”

****

“He wasn’t, not before your mother died,” Dad went on. “You’re too little to remember, but Sam was the happiest baby in the world before. Something happened.” Dad looked up at the rearview again, and Dean twisted in his seat to follow his gaze. Sam was still sleeping, for all the last few bumps and turns had moved his head, hiding the hickey. “Something happened to him. Something's _wrong_ with him. I just...”

****

“Just what, Dad?” Dean asked. “Just what?” he repeated when Dad ignored him.

****

“Nothing, Dean,” he said. “It’s probably nothing.”

****

“There ain’t nothing wrong with Sammy,” Dean said firmly. “He’s my brother.”

****

“Yeah,” Dad agreed absolutely absently, flicking on his blinker. “We’ve got three more hours. I’ll fill up here, finish the drive.”

****

“You want me to drive the rest?” Dean offered as Dad turned off the engine in the gas station. He couldn’t stand being in the passenger seat at the best of times, and he sure as hell couldn’t stand it after the bombshell Dad dangled then didn’t drop.

****

“No, I got it,” he promised. “I’ll be right back.” Dad wandered off into the gas station, no doubt to take a piss. Sam’s knees shifted against Dean’s back in the seat. Dean sighed heavily, closing his book and tossing it in the backpack at his feet. He looked back at Sam, who yawned hugely.

****

“We there?” Sam asked blearily. “Dean?”

****

“No, buddy,” he said. Dean pushed his door open, then pulled the back door open as he closed the front. He climbed in next to Sam, yanking a folded blanket from the footwell. He settled against the door, grabbing Sam’s shirt and tugging him over. Sam settled against him easily. They’d used to sleep curled in the footwells as real little kids, before getting too big and moving to the seats. They were getting too big to do even that now, Sam’s shoulder digging into Dean’s ribs, their feet hard up against the far door. Dean shook the blanket out and tossed it lazily over them. Sam pulled at it with his feet, trying to tuck it around his legs more.

****

“You’ve got a hickey, by the way, you moron,” Dean said as he settled against his brother. Sam snuffled into Dean’s shirt.

****

“I got play and you didn’t,” Sam singsonged sleepily, rubbing his hair on Dean’s shirt like a sleepy cat. “Jealous, jealous, jealous.”

****

“You have very obvious beard burn,” Dean replied. “You’ve got to be more careful.”

****

“You shoulda seen this guy,” Sam said softly. He tucked his head under Dean’s chin. “I’da let him leave a dick shaped bruise on my face, he was so hot. Muscles and jaw line and stubble. He had, had this hair... _You_ would’ve fucked him, he was so hot. He was wearing a cardigan. You know I love those.”

****

“That’s disgusting,” Dean murmured, Sam’s heat warming him and making him tired. He wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders, and just like that, they fit. “You’re so gay.”

****

“As a willow in a windstorm,” Sam mumbled in reply.

****

“What the fuck does that mean?” Dean asked.

****

“‘M sleeping,” Sam chastised. “Shush.”

****

“Sam, seriously. Dad noticed. You’ve got to be more careful,” Dean warned. “He noticed the hickey. If he’d picked up on the beard burn, what do you think he would have done?” Sam sighed heavily. He didn’t move, but Dean could tell he was awake now, no longer half asleep. “Sam,” he prompted.

****

“What do you want me to say?” Sam said into Dean’s chest. “I met a really hot guy who wanted to blow me. I didn’t realize he’d left marks until after. Am I supposed to tell every person I hook up with, 'by the way, my dad’s a homophobe and I’m not suicidal, so if you could make extra sure not to give me any bruises, that’d be fantastic’?”

****

“Saying ‘not suicidal’ is a bit extreme,” Dean complained. “I don’t think Dad would kill you.” Sam huffed unhappily. Dean tightened his grip on his brother reflexively. “We’re getting too big to lay like this,” he muttered, to disguise the fact that it made him sad they couldn’t be little again.

****

“I didn’t realize he’d left it,” Sam said. If it were about anything less serious, Dean would say he sounded petulant. “I’ve been wearing sweaters; I’ve been hiding it for two days.”

****

“That burn is two days old?” Dean echoed. “Fuck, did that guy light his face on fire before he rubbed it all over you?”

****

“You’re allowed to have hickeys,” Sam pointed out. Dean rolled his eyes.

****

“I get hickeys from girls; it’s different,” Dean said. “If Dad asks, I can say, yeah, a fucking _girl_ gave this to me.”

****

“I could lie and say mine’s from a girl,” Sam said. “Or. Well, maybe not this one. But a regular hickey, yeah.” Dean noticed Dad round the car, pulling the fuel nozzle over. It was unlikely, but he could potentially overhear. “I can’t just not ever make out with someone. Sometimes I wanna make out with people. It’s not like you ever exercise any self control when it comes to—”

****

“Shut up,” Dean said. “Dad’s right there, filling up. He’ll drive the last three hours.”

****

“So glad I’m now fucking wide awake,” Sam grumbled. “Thanks, Dean. Least you’re comfortable.”

****

“It was my pleasure,” Dean lied. He wriggled, forcing Sam more firmly against his collarbone. Sam rubbed his head against Dean again, and Dean smiled as they slept.

****

* * *

****

“Dean?” Sam called. Dean sighed, twisting from the bathroom mirror to shout out the bathroom door at Sam.

****

“The fuck you want? I got a date; I’m getting ready!” Sam appeared at the door of the bathroom, peering in casually, ducking to see under the low doorframe. “You look like a really weird owl when you do that,” Dean told him. Sam blinked at him. “Get a haircut.”

****

“I like my hair,” Sam said. “You look nice.”

****

“Shut up,” Dean groaned. He was wearing a green button up over his henley and the nicest pants he owned. They were just really dark, unripped jeans, but they were the best he had. He was shaving, face covered in weird-smelling, off-brand foam.

****

“No, seriously,” Sam said. “Who’s the lucky lady?” Dean hesitated. “Tell me; come on!”

****

“You know how I’ve been working as a janitor at the teacher’s college?” he asked. Sam hummed. “There’s this girl. Her name’s Katie. She’s just—she’s really pretty, and I always see her leaving class when I get to work. I mean, she’s—she’s really pretty. Like, gorgeous pretty. So I tried to talk to her and she said there was this new restaurant she wanted to go to, and I panicked and asked if I could take her.” Sam was smiling at him from his place in the door. “Shut up,” Dean said again. “It’s not cute. I am not being cute.”

****

“No, obviously not,” Sam agreed. “You missed a spot below your jaw, just there.” Sam touched his own face, showing Dean.

****

“Thanks.” Dean ran his razor over the spot. “I’m kinda nervous, man,” he admitted, avoiding meeting Sam’s eye in the mirror, leaning in to continue shaving. “She’s really pretty.”

****

“You’ve said,” Sam said. “Don’t worry. Don’t be nervous. You’re hot as hell; you know that.” Dean snorted, finding that unhelpful. “Come on. Every girl I’m ever friends with asks me to set them up with you. She can’t be out of your league. Besides, Katie wouldn’t have dropped the hint about the restaurant if she didn’t want to go with you. She wouldn’t have said yes.”

****

“That was a hint, right?” Dean demanded. “Girls just don’t mention stuff like that while letting me stand that close to them, right?” He turned to face Sam, eyebrows raised for an answer.

****

“I wouldn’t think so,” Sam promised. “What kind of teacher does she want to be? Do you know?”

****

“Kindergarten,” Dean said. “How fucking adorable is that?” Sam grinned at him. Dean ignored him, turning back to finish shaving. “Miss anything?” he asked, twisting his face this way and that.

****

“No, looks good,” Sam said. Dean rubbed his face with the cheap hand towel. He reached for his cologne and Sam made a small noise of protest. “No, not that one. In the drawer, use the Boss sample from the mall.” Dean opened the cracked drawer. Sure enough, a tiny vial of cologne rolled towards him. “Trust me. You’ll smell great. Much better than your everyday stuff. Just put on a little, so she smells it when you lean in to kiss her.”

****

“That’s what gets you going, Sammy? Guys who smell subtly nice?” Dean laughed, doing what Sam said.

****

“That’s what gets anyone going,” Sam said. “Think about it: you like it when girls smell good close up, not when they reek of vanilla and shit, right?” Dean hummed his agreement, considering. It was true. He hadn’t been close enough to Katie to smell her yet. He hoped she smelled like flowers, or citrus. He loved when girls smelled all soft like that. “So you’re gonna be out tonight; Dad’s gone for a few weeks in Vermont with Frank Ripley... I’m all alone in the house,” Sam mused aloud. “All _alone_...”

****

“What do you want?” Dean asked. Sam grinned sharkishly.

****

“I want to have loud, athletic sex with David,” Sam said, waggling his brows at Dean. “So you should tell me the earliest you’ll be back so we don’t scar you for life.” Dean laughed. He liked David. He was a gorgeous black guy, about Dean’s age, but worked at the same bar as Sam. He made really good Long Island Iced Teas (which Dean definitely didn’t drink; they were a girl’s drink), treated Sam well and clearly liked Dean, bantering with him easily, even when Sam wasn’t with them. They’d been in this house about four months, and David had been a regular part of Sam’s life in that time. It was doing the kid good, having a normal boyfriend and normal school. It helped that Dad had been gone on various hunts almost the whole time they were in this tiny house. It’d been months since their last big screaming match, ages since Sam had to go on a hunt that took him from this town for more than a weekend. Dean wished things were like this more often.  “Also, I have a college essay I want you to proofread when you get home tomorrow.”

****

“College?” Dean echoed. Sam shrugged.

****

“Our English teacher is giving us time in class to do applications,” he admitted. Dean shot him a look in the mirror and Sam made a face at him. “I know I’m not going, but I’m not gonna sit there like an asshole while everyone else gets to do them. I’m not gonna explain why I’m not bothering to apply anywhere. Besides, I’m applying to colleges I’m not gonna get into anyway, serious Ivy League shit. I’m just dicking around.”

****

“I wanna read all the rejection letters that say, ‘Dear Mr Winchester, you’re a big, dumb, geeky loser. If you had better taste in music and weren’t so picky about what you eat, you might have been seriously considered. Stop bitching about the awesome burgers your brother makes and do his laundry for him. Sincerely, Fancy University’,” Dean said. Sam gave a sarcastic chuckle. He straightened his shirt again, staring at the mirror. “Alright. This is as good as it gets.”

****

“Katie’s gonna love you,” Sam assured him. “You picking her up in the Impala?”

****

“Best trick in my book,” Dean replied. “Oh, _fuck_ , Sammy,” he moaned. “She’s really pretty. She’s smart, and she’s cute, she’s got these big friggin’ curls and these glasses. Goddamn.” He really was nervous. It was stupid, because it wasn’t like he was gonna be in town long enough for anything to get serious, but this girl was something special. She was fucking adorable, and had a laugh like chimes. She was smarter than him and prettier than him. She wore these wicker-coloured skirts and scarves that he loved. He went to run his hands anxiously through his hair, but resisted at the last second because he’d mess up it if he did.

****

“It’ll be great,” Sam told him again. Dean pushed past him in the door. They thundered down the narrow stairs and David was slouched on the lumpy couch in the kitchen. The small house had three rooms on the main level, the kitchen, a tiny bathroom, and a room with a laundry. David looked right at home in the shithole of a house, despite his expensive, soft clothing and the fancy suitcoat he wore, in contrast to Dean’s second hand leather and Sam’s fourth hand denim. He straightened up when he saw Dean, whistling low and appreciative. “He looks great, right, David?” Sam prompted from behind Dean on the stairs. Dean raised his arms and did a little, deprecating spin.

****

“You look marvellous, Dean,” David promised. Dean thought this guy was just Sam’s type; he said words like _marvellous_ and wore tight jeans. He had an-always-perfectly-groomed beard and had these big brown eyes even Dean understood the smolder of. “But you also look nervous. Don’t.”

****

“Thanks,” Dean said. He huffed, trying to release the tension. “OK. I’ll be back around eleven at the earliest, and, Sam?” He turned to look at his little brother. “Do not fuck David in the kitchen; that’s disgusting.” Sam whacked his shoulder with force and David cackled.

****

“Dean! For fuck’s sakes!” Sam cried. Dean high-fived David on the way across to the door. There was no reason not to like this guy, honestly; he could take all the jokes Dean dished out. He pulled his leather jacket on, and David wolf-whistled at him again. Dean winked at him as Sam settled on the arm of the couch. “You’re gonna be great! Katie’s the luckiest girl in the world!” Sam called after him. Dean yanked the front door open, resisting the urge to tell Sam to lay down some salt lines. They’d carved plenty of protective runes into the top of all the doorframes; salt wouldn’t add much and might freak out David.

****

“Don’t be such a fruitcake,” Dean replied, and shut the door. He wandered across the tiny yard, looking in the window at his little brother. Sam was sitting on the arm of the ratty couch, feet on the cushions, David’s hands on his knees. They were just smiling at each other, puppy love and lighthearted grins. Kentucky was a lucky place for the Winchesters, clearly.

****

Dean felt infinitely better about his date once his baby was purring under his hands, steering so smooth, shifting properly with the new speed sensors he and Sam put in last weekend. She brought him right to Katie’s, a big farm style house she apparently shared with five other students. The Impala hummed encouragingly after he shut her off, looking up at the lit windows of Katie’s house. He took a deep breath and pushed his door open.

****

Before he could knock on the door, two girls whipped it open. Dean froze, fist awkwardly poised in the air. They didn’t say anything, just stared at him suspiciously. He took his hand back, and cleared his throat. His nervousness ramped right back up to eleven, the way the girls were glaring.

****

“Hello,” he said. “I’m, uh, I’m here for Katie.”

****

“You’re that boy she keeps talking about,” the blonde one said.

****

“The cute janitor at the college,” the dyed-red one added, “Dan, right?”

****

“Dean,” he corrected. He had never felt this cornered since the first ribbing he got by a girl’s dad when he was fifteen. “Is Katie here?”

****

“We’re not done with you, yet,” the blonde one sneered. “Not even close.”

****

“What are your intentions with Katie?”

****

“Are they decent?”

****

“Do you have _herpes_?”

****

“Can I see them if you do?”

****

Dean’s eyes widened and not a moment too soon Katie appeared behind them, pushing them aside. Dean felt himself smile at the sight of her. She was in a yellow dress, summery and light, and she had a ribbon-scarf thing tied in her hair, holding it back and away from her face. She’d done something with her makeup and her eyes practically glowed.

****

“Guys, knock it off,” she whispered to them. “I’m so sorry,” she said to Dean. “I’m sorry about them.”

****

“You look like a princess,” he blurted. The two girls behind Katie giggled, and she smiled, looking down sheepishly. “I mean,” Dean amended. Oh, god, it was a wonder he’d ever gotten laid in his life, dropping a line like that. “Hello, it’s nice to see you.”

****

“Thanks, Dean,” she said. “You look nice too.”

****

“Shall we, uh?” he said, offering her his arm for some reason. _Goddamnit_ , he thought, feeling his face burn. The two girls behind Katie awed quietly. She humored him and took his arm, her white cardigan soft against his hand.

****

“Is this your car?” she asked, sounding impressed. He pulled his arm away, opening the door for her. She smiled, stepping close to get in.

****

“Yep,” he said lamely, and she sat. He closed the door behind her, and forced himself to breathe deep and slow as he rounded the front to get in.

****

“This Impala is from, what, sixty five?” she guessed as he started his baby up. He looked over at her, surprised. She looked a cross between smug with herself and impressed at his car. The look suited her. Dean nodded.

****

“Sixty seven,” he said. “You like classic cars?” She shrugged.

****

“I like the boys who drive them,” she replied. He grinned. “Sorry about my roommates trying to give you the third degree. We do that to every guy who shows up to date one of us.” He laughed, pulling away from her house. “I told them you were sweet, and they didn’t need to, but they insisted.”

****

“I do the same thing with the guys who show up at my house for the first time,” he told her. “So I get it. It’ll take more than that to scare me off, promise.”

****

“I’m glad they didn’t scare you off, Dean,” Katie said. “Turn left up here, or you’ll miss it.”

****

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m a little nervous, to be honest.” Katie had a quirked brow when he glanced over, stopped at the red light. “Well, it’s just that—I mean, you’re kinda out of my league.”

****

“How so?” she asked. He shrugged, swinging the car left.

****

“You’re pretty, and smart,” he said. “You’re gonna be a teacher; I’m just a janitor. Plus you apparently like cars, which is really hot.”

****

“You’re hot,” she told him easily. “I think we’re well matched.” She put a hand on his knee, and he smiled so hard it hurt.

****

Dean made it home well past midnight. Sam and David were waiting up, freshly showered and in PJs. They had peanut butter sandwiches and brutally cheap sparkling wine to celebrate his date, because they were giant saps. Dean got to flop down between them and brag about his night.

****

He would never, in a million years, admit it, but he fucking loved every second of the girly, gossipy bullshit, because Katie was sweet, and funny, and wanted him to teach her to drive stick, and thought he was cute for being a big brother, and liked his jacket, and Sam had been right about the cologne. She had smelled like lavender and nutmeg close up, soft and delicious.

****

* * *

****

Things had been going really well, so of course everything imploded a couple of weeks before Sam graduated. Graduating wasn't even supposed to be that big of a deal for Sam; Dad said he'd be leaving the week before Sam's graduation. It was nice for them, Sam could go to grad parties or maybe sleep over at David's place a few more times before it was finally time to move on to the next town. Dean could hang out with Katie, give his baby a detailing.

****

But then Dad's hunt turned out to be nothing. He came home a few days after he left, with a new suit. Sam hadn't beamed at their dad in a long time the way he did when Dad clapped him on the shoulder and promised a family night out when he got his diploma. Dad had beer and soda when he came home, wallet loaded from three nights of hustling. He had Die Hard and two of the three Star Wars on VHS for them to watch on the crappy couch in the kitchen. Dean went out to get pizza for their movie night; Sam called and cancelled a date with David.

****

He expected to come home to Sam and Dad waiting for pizza, maybe bickering about whether or not they would stay for the actual ceremony, or maybe about whether or not Sam should be allowed to stay for any grad parties. He expected a good night in with his family, maybe telling Dad about Katie, about how great she was. Maybe Dad would want to meet her; maybe for once he wouldn’t gripe about how pointless it was to get involved with a girl, since they’d just be leaving once Sam was done school.

****

He didn’t expect to come home to a dark house, front door open, Dad’s truck still on the street in front of the house. He pulled into the driveway, leaving the pizzas in the car. He pulled his gun from under the seat, checking it was loaded. Why was the door open? What the hell had happened?

****

He crept around the doorframe, the scattered salt line, and a spilt soda by the stairs. Dad was on the couch, head in his hands, lights all off. Dean swept his eyes around the main floor, looking for anything sign that something supernatural had come in. There was nothing; Dad was just sitting there. It was starting to just look like Sam and Dad had had one hell of a fight. Sam must be sulking upstairs in their room, Dad facing away from Dean, on the couch. Dean lowered his gun, tucking it, safety firmly on, behind his back.

****

“Dad?” he said. “Everything OK?” Dad didn’t reply. Dean closed the front door, and crouched, pushing the salt line back into place. No reason to waste it. He glanced back towards the couch, towards Dad. There was glass on the floor. Dean stood, going over.

****

His breath hitched. Glass and blood covered the area in front of the couch, a smashed bottle of whiskey. Dean turned to his dad, shaking his shoulder.

****

“What the hell happened? Dad,” Dean prompted. “Dad, where’s Sam? What happened?”

****

“Did you know your brother was gay?” Dad said finally, speaking to the floor. Dean pulled his hand away from his father, like he’d been burned. Oh, god, it’d happened. It finally happened. He looked back down at the red, wet floor.

****

“Is that Sam’s blood? What did you do?” Dean demanded. His voice was loud and harsh, bordering on unacceptable. He’d never spoken to his father this way before, never been this scared in the wake of one of his fights with Sam. “Where’s Sam? Fuck, answer me!”

****

“Did you _know_?” Dad shouted right back, standing up and shoving Dean’s shoulders. Dean stumbled back, even tho there hadn’t been enough force to make him. “Did you know your brother was a faggot?”

****

“Yeah,” Dean replied, softly. “I’ve known for years, Dad, and I don’t care. What did you do? Is Sam upstairs? Is he OK?” Dad laughed darkly, turning away from Dean. His booted feet crunched glass and he left red footprints for several paces as he wandered back towards the stairs. “Is Sammy OK?” Dean asked again. His voice was shaking.

****

“I told him to get out,” Dad said. “I don’t want to see him here again, Dean. Don’t get any ideas about going after him; don’t think for a second I’m OK with a son of mine being that way. I raised you boys to be men, to be hunters, to be heroes.”

****

“Sam is all those things,” Dean said angrily. “He’s a good kid, and a good hunter. He killed that harpy in Evansville, and he and I took care of a poltergeist all by ourselves last month. He is a fucking _hero_ , just like you or me. Him being gay doesn’t change anything, Dad.”

****

“Watch your tone, Dean,” Dad ordered. “Clean up down here. This is the end of the discussion. I don’t want to hear about this again.”

****

“My whole life you told me to watch out for Sammy, to protect my brother,” Dean said. “You’re telling me you just, what, don’t give a shit about the kid now?” Dad froze on the narrow stairs, stiff and angry in his posture. “He’s your _son_!”

****

“I thought something was off about him because of what that monster did when he was a baby,” Dad shouted, turning to look at Dean. He wavered a bit; Dean wondered if he’d gotten drunk before he found out about Sam or after he told his boy to get lost. “Turns out all that feeling I had that something was wrong was just because he’s a dirty thing, Dean, a dirty, _twisted_ thing. It’s all just this.”

****

“I said it then, I’ll say it now: there is nothing wrong with Sammy,” Dean began.

****

“Enough!” Dad roared. “Dean! I am your father; you will speak to me with some goddamn respect. I told Sam to get out. He’s gone, and I want him to stay gone. You drop this. That’s an order.” He turned away, back up the stairs.

****

“He’s my _brother_ ,” Dean said weakly. “He’s your _kid_.”

****

“That’s the end of it. That’s all I wanna hear,” Dad said, his voice suspiciously wet. “Clean up. Go to bed. You and I leave in the morning. We’ll find a hunt on the road.”

****

Dean mopped up the blood and glass, so the little house wouldn’t look anymore like a crime scene than it had the day they moved in. He tossed the ruined towel he’d used into the stainless steel cistern they used as a kitchen sink, stress knots popping up in his shoulders. What the hell even happened? He left the sink, towel soaking in cold water, and stepped over the salt line on his way out the door. He started up his baby, and for the first time in a long, long time, the rumble of the engine did not make him feel even a little bit better.

****

Fuck. This was supposed to be such a good, easy night. Thank god he and Sam had a system: nearest twenty-four hour diner to the local cemetery. If he’d had to search for the kid, he’d have never pulled himself together enough to face his brother. He used to work in a Biggerson's just like this; he was pretty sure he'd worked there the year Sam had come out to him. He used to hate shit like that in school, repeating patterns and themes. Narrative symmetry. Bullshit.

****

“I’m just looking for someone,” he told the host at the podium, hurrying by. Sam was in the back corner, far side of a booth, head down on crossed arms. Dean felt a bit of relief; Sam had shown up to their meeting spot. He was at least mostly OK.

****

“Hey,” the host said, grabbing Dean’s arm. Dean stopped, flooring the guy with a glare. The hand withdrew. “You’re with that kid?”

****

“Yeah,” Dean said. “We’re not gonna make any trouble.” The host smiled thinly. Dean didn’t get the sense that was the man’s issue; he seemed more concerned that anything, glancing over to Sam.

****

“That kid came in all beat up,” the host said, his voice a little desperate. “Told me not to call anyone, that his brother would show up and I—He was bleeding something bad. I gave him a cloth, to stop the bleeding, and I tried to call an ambulance—”

****

“We’re fine, really,” Dean promised. “Thanks for letting him in; I woulda had trouble finding him otherwise. But we’re fine. No trouble. Don’t call the police or nothing.” The man didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded. Dean thanked him with a thin smile of his own. He hurried thru the near-empty restaurant to Sam.

****

His head was still pillowed on his folded arms when Dean got to him, a coke and two coffee cups—one empty, one made with too much cream the way Dean drank it—on the table in front of him. He had his backpack stuffed full next to him, very front pocket half open and filled with crumpled papers. At least he had some of his shit.

****

“Sam,” Dean called. “Come on, let’s go to the hospital. The guy said you were beat to shit.” Sam didn’t reply. “Hey, man, talk to me here.” He brushed his hand over Sam's elbow. Sam hissed in pain and Dean jerked back. “Sammy,” he said, very aware of how shaken he sounded. He looked behind him. The host was still staring at them, so Dean sat to look more normal, his jacket loud against the pleather seat. Sam kicked his shin. At least he was definitely fucking conscious, holy shit.

****

"Do you wanna tell me what happened?" Dean asked. Fuck, this wasn’t good. "Look, man, Dad wouldn't tell me much, but he was really fucking drunk and there was blood all over the floor, so fucking talk to me here."

****

Sam lifted his head and it was Dean's turn to hiss. Sam's face was covered in cuts over deep bruises, one particularly nasty gash running across his forehead and creeping down between his brows. His shirt front was spattered where he'd bled—head wounds bleed a lot, it's not as bad as it looks, Dean reminded himself aggressively—and his lower lip was split nearly in the centre. His face was mostly clear, wiped cursorily with the now-red cloth the host had given. It had in fact stopped most of the bleeding. The big gash was still leaking slightly; blood dribbled slowly down one side of Sam’s nose.

****

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean said. Sam looked down, avoiding Dean’s eyes. The big gash went into his hairline. His hair was matted down in spots, sticky and red. "What the hell?"

****

"He glassed me," Sam said. He wiped the side of his nose with the cloth. "I mean, he hit me a bunch before that, but he glassed me; that's what this..." He waved a hand vaguely at his face. Dean stared, disbelieving it. "That's what happened."

****

"What the hell?" Dean repeated, lost for words.

****

"I remember once you told me, you said Dad would come around?" Sam said, voice cracking. He looked up, up past Dean’s shoulder, as though to will the tears back into his eyes. "I don't think he's gonna. Dean; I don't really think he's gonna."

****

"How did he find out?" Dean asked, terrified of the answer.

****

“I cancelled that date with David?” Sam reminded him. “Told him my dad had come home from his business trip early and wanted us all to stay in, just the family.” Sam stopped, grabbing what Dean had thought was an empty coffee cup, and spat blood into it. “Sorry, I bit my tongue earlier.”

****

“Jesus Christ, Sam,” Dean cursed.

****

“David came by to be nice, meet Dad, spend a night in, like he does when it’s you and me, right?” Sam said. “You’re so cool about us; he assumed I was out to the whole family. Dad answers the door and David’s just like, ‘ _Hi, I’m Sam’s boyfriend, nice to finally meet you_.’” Sam laughed, wet and hysterical. “I thought Dad was gonna shoot him, I really did. He grabbed the shotgun and everything. David about shit himself.”

****

“He told David to get the hell off his property and then... he kicked me out,” Sam finished. “Told me never to come back. Told me not to talk to you anymore. That I’d never see you or him, consider myself out of the family. I’m glad I was already out to you, or I’d’ve been sitting here wondering if you were coming.”

****

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” Dean said. “He wants to leave tomorrow. He’ll go without me if I don’t show up. He’ll go, and we can still stay at the house. You and me got another few months of rent paid up, then we’ll figure it out from there—”

****

“No, don’t worry about it,” Sam said, talking to the table. Dean frowned at him. “Just go with Dad. I’m OK.” Sam made a face, then moved to spit blood again.

****

“You need stitches,” Dean said, pausing the conversation. Sam shrugged one shoulder.  

****

“It’s not deep, just opening up when I talk,” Sam said. “I think my face might need some, or it’ll scar. We should go to the ER after this.” Dean tugged open a roll of silverware. He unfolded the napkin, used the fork to scoop ice out of Sam’s drink, and handed him the makeshift ice pack. Sam pressed the meager offering to his more swollen eye gratefully, sighing.

****

“OK. So then what the shit do you mean, _don’t worry about it_?” Dean demanded. “You’re my little brother; obviously, I’m staying with you.”

****

“You love hunting, Dean,” Sam said. He looked up at Dean, hazel eyes grossly sincere behind bruises. “And, like it or not, Dad needs someone at his back. He’ll get himself killed if he doesn’t have at least one kid to come home to, or one to drag along with him. Besides.” He twisted with a wince, pulling a white, lightly crumpled envelope out of his bag’s front pocket. A red tree, Sam’s name, and their address looked cozy on the front. Dean took it when Sam offered it.

****

“I wasn’t gonna do anything about it, but it makes sense now, since I can’t stay.” Sam said. Dean frowned as he tugged the fancy paper inside it out, glancing up at Sam. He unfolded the letter, skimming it.

****

“Holy shit, _really_?” he asked, rereading it more carefully.

****

“I have until July fifth to accept their offer,” Sam agreed. “And since I can’t stay with you, I should go. Right? I’m not good enough at hunting to do it alone, and I don’t want to anyway. This way you know I'm safe; you'll know where to find me. I can be normal.”

****

Dean didn't know what to say.

****

“Sammy, this is a full ride,” he pointed out. “I thought you said you applied to all these fancy schools for shits and giggles.” Sam nodded miserably. “This school’s giving you everything. Four years tuition, and your first two years dorm and books and shit. Everything.”

****

“So I could go,” Sam said. “And then you could go with Dad. I would stay at the house till the rent runs out. By then, I’ll have graduated, and then I’ll... I’ll buy a bus ticket. Maybe hitch a ride out to California.”

****

“Sammy,” he said, lost. Sam spat blood once more.

****

“Or you let Dad go,” Sam said. “We’re grown-ups; I’m eighteen. You can go and hunt with Dad if you want, if you think that’s best. You can stay and we can hunt on our own, or you can stay and you can come to California with me. Or we can sign the rent-to-own lease on the house. I know you’re getting serious with Katie. We’ve got options.”

****

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Dean said. Sam shrugged at him. “What do you want?” Dean asked, demanded.

****

“I don’t know,” Sam hedged. “I don’t want to leave you, but Dad wants me gone, and I think he needs you just as much as I do. I want everything to go back to the way it was last week. You and me in Kentucky, just kind of. I don’t know. Being normal.”

****

“Stanford is a really great opportunity,” Dean said, the letter heavy in his hands. “It’s what’s best for you, right? You go to school, and become somebody?”

****

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I could. Part of me really wants to.”

****

“Sammy, I’m on your side,” Dean began. “But you should take this. This is insane. I'm so fucking proud." Sam smiled despite himself and Dean looked down at the letter, shaking his head. "Dad needs somebody, and this is too good for you to give up.”

****

“I know,” Sam admitted. “I’ll be OK. College’ll be good.”

****

“Or I could stay,” Dean said. “I’ll let Dad go; you just say the word. Even if the smallest part of you wants me here, I’m here.” Sam smiled, his teeth red. Dean smiled back, thinking how sad this fucking night was. When did his little brother get so strong? He remember Sam used to cry at anything as a kid, and here he was, barely eighteen and telling Dean it was all gonna be OK. Dean could feel himself shaking, and Sam, bloody mouth and gashed head, was steady as a rock.

****

“Dad needs you more than I do right now,” Sam said. “I can always change my mind, call you. You’d come running; I know you would.” Dean nodded.

****

“I would. I will,” he promised. Sam nodded back, his smile fading. “Hospital?” Dean offered. “Then I’ll take you to David’s. You can spend the night there, then stay at the house once we’re gone.” Sam nodded gratefully. He dropped the bloody ice napkin onto the bloodied table and left a twenty to cover their drinks and apologize for the mess. Dean stood, taking Sam’s backpack. He tucked Sam’s letter away carefully, then reached out when Sam hesitated to stand. He wrapped an arm around Sam’s elbow, and pulled. Sam thanked him, huffing out his discomfort.

****

The host watched them leave with wary eyes from behind the counter.

****

“I forgot we were supposed to have pizza,” Sam laughed softly, moving the boxes to the floor so he could sit. Dean tossed Sam’s bag into the back, sliding into the driver’s seat. He started his baby up, pulling away from Biggerson's. “Hey, you know, when you take me to David’s, that’ll be my last time in the Impala for a while.”

****

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean said, his voice cracking. He braced an elbow against the door, pressing a fist to his mouth. He felt like his lungs were filled with acid. He was going to leave his little brother, just fucking leave him. Sam would be alright. He always was, but that didn’t make Dean feel like less of a goddamn failure. He parked in the ER parking lot, circled to help Sam up.

****

“I’m OK, Dean, really,” Sam promised. “You’re OK too.” He spat blood onto the pavement of the parking lot.

****

“We need some help here,” Dean called to the near-empty ER as they made their way in. “My brother needs some help.”

****

Two really hot female nurses swooped in, taking Sam’s bloody mouth very seriously. Dean supposed it looked really terrible. His head had most stopped bleeding, but not before staining his face and splattering all over his shirt. Sam looked like he’d just taken down a vampire solo. Dean went straight to the desk, and took the forms from the nurse there. He smiled at Dean sympathetically.

****

“Your brother looked rough,” he said gently. Dean shrugged, lowering his eyes to his pen.

****

“He’s had worse,” he mumbled. He filled out the insurance forms, glad he’d grabbed a copy of Sam’s card from the car. The bar’s insurance wouldn’t cover everything, but Sam had been full-time at night for almost seven months. It would help. Sutures and maybe an X-ray were well within their budget. Dean could hustle on the road, he realized. He should give his legitimate earnings from the college to Sam. Sam would need them, to get himself to California, get himself a place to stay before he could move into the dorm.

****

Sam looked better once he was stitched up, wiped clean of blood. He also looked really high. A doctor walked Sam out to the waiting room where Dean sat with her hand on his elbow. Dean leapt to his feet when they came over, and Sam beamed, teeth white once again, around a couple of sutures in his lip. The doctor asked about what happened, about contacting police, but Sam was eighteen, and he’d refused to disclose what happened before she’d given him pain meds and forty two sutures. He didn’t seem concussed and didn’t need to be kept overnight, so they were really free to go.

****

Sam hung off of Dean, like a gross, bloody octopus. Dean let him, because it was well past midnight, and knowing Dad, Dean would be leaving his brother behind at six am. Less than six hours. It wasn’t like they’d be apart forever, obviously, but it felt terrifying nonetheless. It felt like a betrayal. Dean poured his brother into the passenger seat.

****

“Dean,” Sam moaned as Dean started up the car.

****

“What’s up, Sammy?” Dean asked, forcing himself to sound casual. He glanced over at Sam. One of Sam’s eyes was swollen nearly shut, but the other watched him through a haze of Percocet.

****

“Don’t be sad,” Sam ordered. “We’ll be OK. We knew this was gonna happen eventually.” Dean shook his head.

****

“I never thought about this day,” Dean admitted. “I never thought Dad would make you leave.” They drove in silence for a while, getting nearer and nearer to David’s apartment block. Sam hummed Metallica absently, reaching his hand out to hold onto Dean’s sleeve, like he did when he was little. That hurt almost more than anything. Dean pulled up outside David’s apartment, turning off the car. Sam didn’t move to get out, and Dean didn’t move to make him.

****

“This is so fucked up, Sam,” Dean said. Sam flopped over to him, putting his giant head in Dean’s lap. “This is all so fucked up.” Dean stroked his floppy hair, letting himself cry now that Sam couldn’t see. He didn’t want to go.

****

“I knew it was coming,” Sam said. “I thought it’d be a while more, and maybe not this bad, but I knew.” Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Talk to me.”

****

“I feel like I’m abandoning you,” Dean admitted. “I feel like I should have protected you somehow. How am I supposed to go and hunt with Dad knowing he did this to you?” His voice gave away that he was crying and he used the hand not petting Sam to wipe at his face.

****

“You’re not abandoning me,” Sam replied. “You couldn’t protect me from Dad forever. I made it this long because I had you looking out for me. And I dunno. He’s still our dad.” Sam put a hand on Dean’s knee, rubbing it lazily. “You don’t have to go, not if you don’t want to.”

****

“I’m supposed to leave Dad to burn himself into the ground?” Dean asked darkly. Sam shrugged into Dean’s legs.

****

“I don’t know,” he said. “But nobody can make you do anything. You decide what to do and we do it, big brother.” Dean rubbed Sam’s hair.

****

“I am so high,” Sam added when Dean didn’t respond. Dean laughed, wiping his face again, forcing himself to pull himself together. “Seriously. Nothing hurts and I am so _high_.”

****

“I’m glad,” Dean said, resuming stroking Sam’s hair. His watch read one AM. Five hours. “I think Dad’ll self destruct without one of us there. He doesn’t take care of himself when he’s away. And I’m a hunter. At the end of the day, I think that’s all I can be.”

****

“You can do anything,” Sam said firmly, smacking Dean’s knee. “But it’s OK to do that. I love you, Dean.”

****

“I love you too, Sammy,” Dean promised. “Up. Let’s take you to David.”

****

“No,” said Sam. “Let’s stay here till you have to leave.”

****

“OK,” Dean agreed. “Up. We’ll go to the backseat, like when we were little.”

****

“Remember we were _little_?” Sam said, laughing as he sat up. “We were so fucking _little_ then.”

****

“We had no idea,” Dean agreed.

****

* * *

****

“I didn’t think you were gonna show up,” Dad said as Dean stepped out of the Impala that morning. Dad was loading up his truck with bags of salt from the pantry and all the knives he’d hidden around the house back in their box. Dean didn’t reply, moving past him towards the house. “Dean. I know you went to him. I told you not to.” Something inside Dean snapped, and he turned, getting too close to his father, too hot, too angry, too sudden.

****

“Don’t fucking start with me,” Dean snarled. “ _Forty two_ _fucking stitches_. I am this close to leaving you, so don’t give me any shit, OK? You’re in the wrong here, but I’m coming because I am your son and family is what I do. It’s all I have. But don’t you dare start with me, not today.”

****

Dad didn’t say anything. He didn’t apologize and he sure as hell didn’t say he regretted beating the hell out of his youngest. Dean knew he looked like shit. He was red-eyed and exhausted, bits of Sam’s blood under his fingernails, and wrinkled to high heaven from cramming in the Impala with his brother what felt like one last time.

****

Dean went into their room, the two double beds they’d shoved up the tiny staircase onto the upper floor. Sam’s bed was made up, the bookshelf he’d used as a dresser devoid of his clothes. Sam would be coming back here; Dean wouldn’t. Dean gathered up his things, leaving the few shirts Katie had left there at one point of another. He left the hoodie Sam liked to steal, and took out the pictures in his wallet. He had one of his mom, and two of him and Sam. He picked out the one Bobby had taken of them when Dean was about ten, both covered in mud and carrying shovels proudly.

****

He wiped his face hard, breathing roughly.

****

He stood, leaving the photo on Sam’s bed. His brother would be OK. He always was.

****

* * *

 


End file.
